Bridge
by A for Anarchy
Summary: This is the sixteenth fic in my one-word prompt series. Canon-verse Tywin/Sansa pairing, but an AU of Storm of Swords. No warnings on this one!


**Disclaimer**: I do not own _A Song of Ice and Fire_. It belongs to GRRM.

**Author's Note**: This is the sixteenth fic in my one-word prompt series. Canon-verse Tywin/Sansa pairing. Kinda sorta AU for _Storm of Swords_.

* * *

When she was summoned before the court and its king, she naturally assumed that her value as a hostage had, once again, decreased, and that Joffrey would take a moment out of his day to strip another slice of her soul away from her. Whispers throughout the palace informed her that the Kingslayer had slipped through Robb's fingers. There was no longer any use for her; Robb would not sue for peace to see her returned.

The thought had her contemplating, not for the first time, how long the drop was from the highest tower. But, the whispers also said that Robb was _winning_. If she could survive until he reached King's Landing…

Such thoughts consumed her, replacing the fantasies of Florian and Jonquil. However, instead of a rescue, she had an ultimatum.

Joffrey handed down her sentence with a sneer; shock prevented her from hearing every word, but for a wild-eyed moment, she believed herself betrothed to the Imp. She managed to squeak out a request for clarification; what she received was Joffrey's malicious laughter crawling up her spine as he declared that she was to be his grandmother, not his aunt.

The Queen Regent took over then, and Sansa was informed that this marriage would build a bridge between their families, thus ending the war between the North and the South. Her understanding of the words was vague, but she was aware that her status had changed from hostage to broodmare.

Sansa knew very little about her husband-to-be, only that he was the most feared, and wealthiest, man in the Seven Kingdoms, and that he had two sons. A man cursed with a son who could not inherit, and a son who would not inherit.

The blood drained from her face, and Sansa swayed a little. A firm hand on her elbow steadied her, but before she could deliver her thanks, fingers were digging into her skin, and she was hauled away from the throne room.

Relief rushed over her, she was being taken away from Joffrey's cruel eyes and taunting smile, but the feeling was short lived, for it was none other than the Lord Hand leading her away.

Limpness returned to her limbs, and the Lord Hand was forced to drag her dead weight behind him. Somewhere, a door opened, and she was unceremoniously thrust into an empty chamber.

Sansa had never been alone with the Lord Hand prior to that moment, a thing for which she was grateful. His presence filled the room, seeping into its nooks and crannies, and it bore down upon her with suffocating intensity. This was the man they expected her to marry?

Tywin Lannister was not a man at all, he was a force of nature, and he would strip her of everything she was, grind her down until all that remained was the empty shell of Sansa Stark. It was a terrifying thought; she had barely survived Joffrey's torments, and now she would be sacrificed to this old lion.

Lord Tywin had begun to speak, but his words fell away from her ears like water. He spoke of a bridge between Starks and Lannisters, a formal alliance uniting North, West, and South (in her mind, the Queen Regent voice echoed the Lord Hand's). Together, they would face the Targaryen child. This was an honor, one that she was wholly unworthy of, but it would behoove her to do her duty to her king, as she had been taught.

'Unworthy;' the word rang in her ears. In the North, Sansa had had worth; in the bosom of her family, there was worth. But, she was in King's Landing, her family was scattered, her father was dead, and she was left to fend for herself alone, as a lamb among lions. Here, they heaped such words on her by the dozens.

Sansa was forced back into the present by the hard grasp of a hand on her chin; Lord Tywin had finally tired of her inattention.

"Have you heard me, Lady Stark?"

Numb, she nodded.

"Do you _understand_?"

Again, she nodded.

"Then repeat your understanding back to me so that I may be assured of your ability to speak and reason."

Sansa licked her lips, unsure of how to begin, "My Lord Hand, I—we are to be married. An alliance will be secured. You will have an heir to Casterly Rock."

She sounded dull and mechanical, but what else could he expect from her at a time like this? Apparently, a great deal more because he gave her a light slap across her cheek and the haze lifted from her.

Sansa's first reaction was anger, how dare he strike her? But prudence cautioned that this was not a man that one could strike with impunity, so she settled on glaring at him defiantly. It was a tactic she had tried on Joffrey only once, then he had had Ser Meryn beat her for her impudence. The lesson was forgotten as she stared at Tywin Lannister.

Strangely, this seemed to be the reaction he desired, for he drew back and gave her a slight nod of approval.

"If I desired a dullard for a wife, I would look no further than the Stokeworth girl. You must be in possession of some intelligence to have survived Joffrey for such a length of time. I require that intelligence of you now. What is your understanding of this arrangement?'

Sansa cast about for the answer that he wanted, but came up with very little aside from one possibility…

"You would have a foothold in the North," she said slowly, still dragging together the threads of thought, "more than peace with Robb, you would have my dowry. No Lannister has ever controlled so much as a rock in the North." Understanding dawned, and Tywin's eyes took on a distinctly avaricious gleam.

He finished her thought for her, "Yes, after this there will be no 'King in the North' beyond an empty title. Your foolish brother lost the North the moment he broke faith with Walder Frey, and this is the only way for him to keep his crown."

The realization was painful; she had been sold to Tywin Lannister in exchange for a meaningless title. The knowledge burned through her, and what little hope she had held regarding her future turned to ashes.

* * *

It was a moment of vulnerability that he had been waiting for, and he seized upon it with predatory glee. "You will be my wife, Lady Sansa, but you need not be a hostage. If you come to me willingly, I will give you something you have never had before."

She looked at him, desperation tinged with the desire for salvation rising in her eyes.

"Power, Lady Sansa. You will wield a power great enough that even kings will look to you in supplication. _If_ you come willingly."

What he offered was a prize beyond gold; she did not need to know that the power he allowed her would be used for his benefit, not yet. One day, she might come to realize it herself, but until that day, she would be no more than a pawn in the hands of a skilled player. However, the agreement would benefit Lady Sansa in more ways than she could imagine.

After all, there was much to be learned at the feet of the Lord of Casterly Rock.


End file.
